


004. Hate

by Elica



Series: 200 drabbles challenge [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Insight, M/M, Running Away, ghost - Freeform, thought of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elica/pseuds/Elica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Agentotter on tumblr...<br/>"Yeah, I pretty much read him exactly that way in 3A particularly… we know his life has been kind of awful on many different levels for a long time, but I think by this point in 3A he’s actually welcoming his own destruction. Just personally, although I’m working on a fairly dark Derek-centric fic right now, I don’t usually write him being in quite this dire a situation in fic because I deal with it too much in my own life, I literally can’t deal with it in fic. I mostly don’t even read fic that deals with those themes, even if it’s amazing, because it’s not real great for my own mental state. I would sincerely love to read all kinds of Derek and Boyd being bros and it would be amazing if people were writing fic really addressing all of the layers of what’s going on with Derek, I just wouldn’t be able to read the latter myself."</p>
            </blockquote>





	004. Hate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otter/gifts).



> Unbeta'ed.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?”

Sitting in his car, an awful bag of hamburgers on his knees, Derek raised his head, looking in the back mirror. There was no one there, he was alone. All alone in his car, by night, in the middle of nowhere, eating some grease that made his mouth cry.

He shrugged. Maybe he was hearing voices. He was tired from his car travel, tired from the hot weather, tired from his life. All of that. So he put the radio on and finished his dinner with a background music of some country girl leaving her home with a baby in her womb. Great.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

It was still normal. Wolfsbane induced heroin could have this effect on werewolves. You could have hallucinations. Derek had seen his father, looking at him like he was a newborn. He had seen Laura kissing and fucking Kate Argent, for God sake. There had been vision of the mansion, travel through his university’s corridors, in New York. Dreams of cars’ race where he was fighting against a blue Jeep that sang stupid song from cartoons. So the voice? Not that surprising.

He knew he was on the floor of an empty flat, somewhere in Houston. Or was it Dallas? He couldn’t know really. He had a little bag with white and purple powder in it and some coke in an old fridge. That was it. He didn’t need anything else after all. He had lost weight but since he hadn’t anything to fight against, anyone to seduce, what was the need?

“Really, I thought you’d want to fight a little more.”

“Fuck you.”

His voice was hoarse. He realized he hadn’t spoken for weeks. Maybe he needed to change town.

 

He found himself going West. He had sold the Toyota to get a cheaper car. He had sold his leather jacket and some old magic books he couldn’t care more of. He had money but he hadn’t access to his bank account no more. Once he still had enough reason to give the access to Cora, so she could go to college and live her full life. He didn’t need it.

He couldn’t buy drugs if he didn’t work a little, but the suffering he went through when he missed the powder was enough to satisfy him.

“Masochist. I knew you were one, but you don’t deserve that.”

“Shut up. I’m not listening.”

He knew the voice. Deep in his head, he knew it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it though. Not now. Not. Ever.

And Derek was a master at not listening.

 

Except he had to somehow.

The car broke in the middle of the fucking desert. By luck, he found a motel, could have a room in exchange of some work and stayed there for days. He couldn’t work in the middle of the day, it was too hot outside. So he stayed in the room, alone, he couldn’t bear the TV and couldn’t read and couldn’t even jump in front of a truck to end it already. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.

So he listened and then he saw.

Boyd was dead. He had killed him.

But there he was, sitting on the other bed with his ever calm face, his knowing eyes, his sad smile.

“Why did I turn you?” Derek asked.

Boyd shrugged: “You have the answer. Not me.”

“It was rhetorical. I’m not speaking with a ghost.”

“The sass is back. Good. But the question, do you have an answer?”

Derek was lying on his bed, vaguely aware of the presence on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes. He could think about it. Why did he turn them? They weren’t strong. They were too young, and lost, and suffering. All of them. Even Jackson. So why? He had gone against all the laws of packs.

“I took advantage of you”, he said and decided to ignore Boyd for the rest of the day.

 

He had to wash the little swimming pool and then paint the fence around it. The lady who owned the motel was flirting with him, while her husband, an ex Marine on a wheeling chair stayed all day in front of the television.

Derek didn’t care. He fucked her once, but it was unsatisfying for the both of them.

He fucked her again, but in front of her husband, who couldn’t satisfy her anymore, and it was a little better. He was clearly a tool. He didn’t have to think. So, that was good.

And he could have entire discussion with Boyd now.

“I killed my sister, you know.”

It was the first time Boyd wasn’t talking about him, or Erica, or Isaac, or his countless errors in leading a pack.

“What?”

He was doing push up again. He was bored. He could do it.

Boyd was sitting on the floor, back to the wall.

“I was ice skating with my sister on the lake once. I took interest in a bird that had broken its wing. I watched it, I didn’t watch my sister. She wandered and lost herself. They found her two days later, in a hole, frozen to death and her leg broken. I killed her.”

“No you didn’t.”

He couldn’t sympathize with a ghost, could he?

“Did you kill your sister? Your family? Erica? Myself?”

“You’re playing with words. Don’t annoy me.”

“Ok.”

 

Derek left two days later, his car good again, at least good enough to join San Francisco if he could. Perhaps he would go South next. To Mexico. Could he do suicide in Mexico? Or just live like a ghost. With anyone to give a fuck about him.

Destiny hated him so he walked on some bikers that took hatred on him in the second. They broke the car, he had to run. In the desert with no supply. So he turned.

“Let me tell you something”, said Boyd this night, while Derek was panting against a rock, feeling thirsty and hungry and so, so, so tired. He listened. What could he do?

“You turned Jackson because you thought he was strong, and he would have made a fantastic beta if not for his little problem with lizards. You turned Isaac because you needed someone to control and he seemed to be weak enough, except he was not: he was empathic, warm and so much like a little brother you started to hate him. You turned Erica because you saw the potential in her, but you were afraid of her power, of the manner she reminded you of Laura. You turned them for the wrong reason, but you didn’t make errors when you bite them.”

It wasn’t making any sense, but Derek couldn’t answer. He whined instead. He had no pride left.

Boyd leant to him and smiled: “You turned me because you needed me. But I was too immature, and we didn’t have time. Have I live, I would have show you how much you can live, what you can do with your life. You’re not a failure, Derek.”

He ran again the day after, stealing from farms and chasing little animals to feed. He ran again and again, always to the West. And he didn’t care if he was going to North instead of South. He let the wolf decide. Sometimes Boyd was there, and sometimes he wasn’t.

Derek likes his presence though. He knew Boyd wasn’t a ghost. He was his conscience. He was the reason why he turned the boy once. Because he had the capacity to understand him so much deeper than the rest of them.

 

One morning, his paws met the road leading to Beacon Hills. It was smelling strange, smelling wrong. Boyd was next to him, humming.

“The Nemeton, this shit got real, you can feel it.”

Derek showed his fangs.

“That’s not all, you know. There’s an alpha here that shouldn’t be.”

He knew it. But he was such a failure he couldn’t care less about his uncle. Boyd didn’t agree though. He kneeled beside him to look directly in his eyes.

“We talked a lot about the ones you lost, Derek, but have you here? Isaac. You need to reach for him again. Don’t hate him because he’s like a brother to you. Love him for it. Scott. He’ll be a damn good alpha and you know it. And he’ll protect you. You fought together, you still can now.”

That was not a good idea. Derek wanted to fly away. Again. But he couldn’t.

“The other ones? Humans, hunters? The sheriff? Scott’s mum? They don’t know you. They just know the shadow of you. But they can remember, you can show them you’re weak, and strong, and human like them.”

And just with that he was gone.

 

Derek ran around the town all day long. But when the night arrived, he trotted to one specific house where he heard one specific boy failing to sleep. He was no wolf, no betas, no normal human, no hunter. He was a boy with too much pride and so much sorrow he could compete with Boyd and himself. They hadn’t spoken about him once during all his journey.

 

The next morning, Stiles, still tired from his fourth night without sleep in a row, found a wolf curled up below his window. He knelt before him, not quite reaching with his hand, not quite warming to the new presence, not quite trusting. But still. He stayed here and that was all Derek needed now.

“Hey big man. I missed you.”

 


End file.
